07-01-2013, 11:24 PM
Don't quite know how to edit this one I'd love to hear some suggestions. Most of it is in blank verse.
A grape fruit tree aside the house is rife
With hanging fruits unpicked. Ground
Around the tree, is wet with muddy grass.
Beside the grass is moss, that houses life
And in this mud and moss a microcosm thrives
With centipedes and worms and other bugs.
When walking underneath the tree the webs
That spiders weave can catch and tickle you
And you might see a troop of marching ants
In clotted piles that make them all stand out
As they devour and cloud the rotting fruit
In times of youth in summer, we would bat
The fruits and watch as they would fall and thud
Into the muddy microcosm, but most fruits
Would sit and hang and turn a color of rot
The fruits that once were bright would look like they
Were scabbed, often turning brown or crusting grey
The freshly rotting fruits would look indented, soft
And you could hold a fruit in hand and squish
And squeeze with little force and crumble it.
The tree has been beside the plaster walls
Of my domestic dwelling growing fruits
And shedding them for years. With every glance
Toward this grapefruit tree, I would see the ground was always
Filled with fallen fruits that fell into the microcosm
And fruits would slowly meld into the wet
And living earth. And thinking now upon
This tree of fruits that never cease to grow and fall it seems
That time sort of moves in circles. Still
Images like fruits that grow and fall and grow
And fall.
A grape fruit tree aside the house is rife
With hanging fruits unpicked. Ground
Around the tree, is wet with muddy grass.
Beside the grass is moss, that houses life
And in this mud and moss a microcosm thrives
With centipedes and worms and other bugs.
When walking underneath the tree the webs
That spiders weave can catch and tickle you
And you might see a troop of marching ants
In clotted piles that make them all stand out
As they devour and cloud the rotting fruit
In times of youth in summer, we would bat
The fruits and watch as they would fall and thud
Into the muddy microcosm, but most fruits
Would sit and hang and turn a color of rot
The fruits that once were bright would look like they
Were scabbed, often turning brown or crusting grey
The freshly rotting fruits would look indented, soft
And you could hold a fruit in hand and squish
And squeeze with little force and crumble it.
The tree has been beside the plaster walls
Of my domestic dwelling growing fruits
And shedding them for years. With every glance
Toward this grapefruit tree, I would see the ground was always
Filled with fallen fruits that fell into the microcosm
And fruits would slowly meld into the wet
And living earth. And thinking now upon
This tree of fruits that never cease to grow and fall it seems
That time sort of moves in circles. Still
Images like fruits that grow and fall and grow
And fall.